


[Interlude] Symphony for a Survivor

by KadeAK (zacixn)



Series: Our Blood Is One And The Same [Biological Dad AU] [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "Biological Dad" AU, "Hybrid" AU, (Wilbur; Tommy; Tubbo; and Eret are minor appearances), Death..?, Everything Hurts, Fighting, Gen, IRL Setting / No Respawns, Internalised Furryphobia, Phil is a badass, Phil-centric, Rebellion, Violence, contrary to popular belief - phil is human, enemies of the state, phil sees a lonely catboy and says "you're my son now"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacixn/pseuds/KadeAK
Summary: Hybrids are an ancient species of humans crossed with animals, blessed with the favour of nature. They used to live in peace on the SMP’s land, but ever since the dawn of humanity’s modern culture, they have become ostracised and hunted by their once-brethren.Phil Watson has always been a survivor. He is the one man in the SMP who can proudly say he has faced a Dream in battle and lived to tell the tale. When he is called away from his family for active duty and presented with a situation he never thought he’d live to see, Phil does what he does best – he fights for freedom.Or: There's a reason why L'Manberg did not fall at the hands of Dream's elite soldiers on its first day of war.[This work is part of a chronological series. It is recommended you read from the start. However, it is possible to enjoy this work as a stand-alone.]
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Phil Watson & Antfrost, Phil Watson & BadBoyHalo
Series: Our Blood Is One And The Same [Biological Dad AU] [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946248
Comments: 49
Kudos: 372





	[Interlude] Symphony for a Survivor

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic where the heavy weight of death is an important thing to remember. In case you skip tags - respawning is not a thing in this AU. Keep it in mind! <3

Phil was an enigma.

Most people saw him as a general, a leader, a fighter with glory in his blood. According to the Dream Team, he craved power, and freedom, and all things in between. In their eyes, Phil was a secret hybrid hero with everything to win and nothing to lose.

Their perceptions of him weren’t true at all, though. Phil was no warrior, and Phil was no leader. Though he would fight to the end to protect his animal-hearted brethren, he was no hybrid, either – just a well-intentioned human with an actual basic sense of morality. At his core, Phil knew very well that he was just a simple survivor, never without a hidden sword and a compass on his person. This was just his identity, through and through, and nothing could ever take it from him. 

Compared to the majority of the SMP’s people, Phil knew a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to.

He knew all of the capital’s secret alert protocols. He knew how their hybrid hunting units operated. He knew the real history of the land the humans had claimed as their own. He knew the truth about Dream that he would kill to erase forever.

Phil didn’t think he would need the majority of his knowledge anymore – he wasn’t an active freedom fighter at the head of the battlefield, much to his own disappointment – but it was still there, lying dormant for the day he needed to pick up a sword and lead again. Most of his old spies and confidants had since been slain by Dream’s men themselves, burned in the dawn of the Hybrid Hunts that occurred after L’Manberg’s fall – fortunately, they hadn’t known how to get to him.

Surprisingly, Dream had tried to come for his head personally on the last day of the First Revolution, shrouded in green as usual and offering a duel to determine his L’Manberg’s fate. At the time, the King had been quite young – though, only Phil knew that information. Still, though, despite his young age and his slightly oversized green cloak, he was just as fierce as any of his predecessors. 

If Phil won, they would be allowed to officially declare their independence, and Dream’s team would withdraw from combat immediately. If Dream won, they would burn the city to the ground and kill all of its inhabitants, leaving nothing remaining.

It was a royal-style duel, typical of a Dream. The rules were simple – whoever draws blood from their enemy first wins. The abnormally young Dream Team stood in attendance, as did Phil’s old cabinet, watching with bated breath for the inevitable tumble of L’Manberg’s general. He might still be a kid, but nobody could come close to matching Dream, they thought. The revolutionaries were fucked.

The wind was chilly in the air as they fought, blades dancing in the air as if the two enemies were part of an elaborate performance. Dream was agile and flexible, difficult to hit and skilful with his strikes – if Phil didn’t know any better, he’d liken Dream’s movement style to the athleticism of a cheetah, strong and graceful and proud.

Phil, on the other hand, was like a wall, steadier and stronger than the youthful leader before him. He was nowhere near as light on his feet, but that was okay – he used his shield well, and knew how to handle a bit of pressure. It almost looked like they countered each other perfectly, both parties unable to land a single blow, until—

Phil’s sword found purchase in Dream’s right shoulder. Dream’s blade wedged itself in Phil’s left arm.

Neither of them won. Neither of them lost. They drew.

It was a first for Dream. Phil knew the King was used to crushing his opponents with little to no effort, even as such a young ruler. He wouldn’t be surprised if the leader had never experienced loss of any degree before. He’d quirked a smile at that realisation before the duel – cockiness and inexperience weakened leaders, and it had most certainly weakened Dream in this situation.

“What do we do now?” A young George had been there instantly to tend to his friend’s wounds, his voice frustrated and tense. “You drew, we don’t have a plan for that!”

Phil had tightened the bandage around his own shoulder idly, mulling over the thoughts. While he’d saved his people’ lives, that wasn’t enough.

He wanted – no, he needed independence, but he had ultimately fallen short on the exact requirement to earn it. How could he ensure the eventual downfall of the SMP without angering his enemies, now? They were too exhausted to keep fighting for a new ultimatum, after all.

The country wasn’t ready for a revolution, not yet anymore. The latter months of the war had been brutal, often leaving Phil scraping for ideas and plans that he knew would lead more people to their deaths. If they were to stand any chance at ever toppling Dream’s empire, he would need to be smart, not bold.

An idea lit up in his head like a firework.

“Let us live,” Phil offered. “Let our nation stand untouched, and we will re-unite our people with your capital. It’s a win-win situation – fitting for a draw, right?” If they couldn’t win L’Manberg its independence now, perhaps someone else could. Maybe Phil could eventually come back, even, and give his nation a new fighting chance. Conceding for now was the best probable proposal. All Phil needed to do was give them a good head start.

Dream quirked his head at him slightly, and Phil imagined him thinking the offer over.  
Outstretching a hand, Dream nodded. “I will take that,” he said in his high-pitched but haughty tone, and Phil imagined him smirking underneath his ceramic mask. “Nobody will be left behind.”

“It’s a deal. Just let me pack up, first.”

\--

Despite their arrangements of peace, life in the SMP was nothing short of humiliation. Phil hated the life of the city, thankful he was allowed to live on the outskirts of the capital despite being under frequent watch as an enemy of the state. He knew a lot about Dream personally, now – his planning style, his attack pattern, his methods of dealing with traitors - and Phil was sure that the leader hated that.

Despite being under the watchful eyes of the Dream Team army, Phil somehow thrived. On the dawn of his first anniversary in the city, he adopted a hybrid son – Techno - on a whim, taken aback by how quickly he found himself afflicted by feelings of protectiveness that welled up in his chest at the mere thought of him. Phil knew Dream would be seething when his lackeys delivered the information – their number one enemy of the state is now harbouring sub-humans! It didn’t matter how he felt, though - he wasn’t breaking any laws by taking Techno in without paperwork. Dream should have focused on the logistics of his own country more if he wanted to stop Phil in that way.

After the first son came Wilbur, the wide-eyed and scared kid with an unknown past and a great deal of self-doubt. He was a welcome addition to the family, clicking with his brother at surprising speed and very quickly becoming the little rascal of the house. Phil couldn’t count how many times he’d suspiciously lost his shoes or his shield, only to find the little boy had stolen them and run off mischievously. Maybe being a trickster just ran in his unknown blood, though it mellowed out as he aged somewhat, much to the father’s relief.

The third adoption was Tommy, and Tommy was loud and happy and very welcome. Not long after his addition, he started inviting Tubbo around when his brothers were busy, to the point where it was nearly impossible to separate the two. Phil loved his new sons with all of his heart, and it made him incredibly happy to think of just how much Dream’s men would hate his raising of hybrids and hybrid allies.

He’d known that a call to active duty would come as soon as they were self-sufficient again. That was okay, Phil was always ready for something new. Active duty didn’t mean what civilians thought it did – he wouldn’t be going off to fight far-away wars on the SMP’s behalf, no. He’d be helping the army fight internal conflicts. It was a cruel twist of irony, really. Hadn’t L’Manberg been an internal conflict?

For once, it was a good thing that Techno and Wilbur had already left home, because it made departure less sorrow-inducing. Phil had held both Tommy and Tubbo close on the night before he was due to leave, closing his eyes shut so that he didn’t cry in front of them. They were old enough to look after themselves, Phil knew, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry.  
“When will you be coming back?” Tubbo asked, his voice slightly strained and muffled where his face was buried into Phil’s signature gown.

“I don’t know, son,” Phil replied honestly. “You two just look after each other, alright? I’m counting on you.” He paused to ruffle their hair affectionately, humming a melancholy chuckle as they both weakly protested.

“You should just kill Dream while you’re there,” Tommy piped up, trying to sound brave – but Phil knew his son, and he knew how he sounded when he was trying his best not to cry. “Can’t be that hard, right?”

Quirking a smile, Phil shook his head even though neither boys could see. “We’ll see what I can do, Toms. We’ll see.”

Just like that, a knock rang through the air, and guards were upon Phil, ready to lead him away from the only stable life he’d known. Phil cast a glance backwards to his boys, heart sinking when he spotted the gleam of unshed tears in their eyes. 

(Be safe, kids.) he thought. (Your dad’s got some work to do.)

\--

Dream had grown considerably since Phil last saw him fifteen years ago. If he had to wager a guess, the leader was now about twenty-seven, maybe pushing twenty-eight years old – that fact was probably something else Dream didn’t want him to know. He didn’t look that different, having once again shrouded his form in a green cloak and hidden his face with a ceramic mask. Now, his feet were wrapped in chunky and intimidating boots, probably optimised for heavy parkour and the like. Phil didn’t doubt he had several enchanted weapons concealed on his person, even now.

“It’s been a while,” the leader noted, leaning forward in a too-large and too-fancy golden throne. He leaned his head on his hands, a sickening mood of overconfidence basically pouring from his attitude. Phil wrinkled his nose in feigned disgust.

“Wish I didn’t have to see you at all, mate.” Phil spoke, his normally friendly blue eyes narrowed into a threatening, sharp gaze. “The hell do you want active duty from me for all of a sudden? It’s been over a decade.”

“You’re harbouring three hybrids underneath your roof.” Dream said matter-of-factly, leaning back once again as if Phil was no longer interesting enough to hold his full attention. “You’re a threat to my society. I want to keep you under close watch. Hell, maybe you’ll be useful for once when you’re not trying to recreate a zoo within your walls.”

Phil glared at Dream, doing his best to keep his temper steady. “I had one hybrid under my roof, and he doesn’t live in your SMP anymore.”

“Whatever,” Dream sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “Based on my assessments of you, you’re still my number one threat, like it or not. So, you’re going to be working under me from now on. It’s not torture, I’m not actually a dictator like you seem to think I am.” He seemed to eye Phil up and down, his thought process a mystery as he fell silent for a moment before continuing. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you go back to see your associates.”

“Sons. They are my sons.” Phil tried to stop himself from bristling so openly, but he couldn’t help it. Dream was a hell of a bastard, referring to his family so haughtily that the survivor wondered if he’d ever even had a father growing up. 

“Look, I’m going to be honest, I don’t care about your spawn.” His reply was cold and uncaring, a bored yawn filling the room afterwards. “I deal with all high-risk threats the same way, so you’d better get used to it, Philza.” The use of a nickname over his real name threw Phil off. This man really was a master at subtle intimidation. Hopefully, Phil would make it out the other end just alright. He’d see his sons again.

“Alright, Dream.” Phil said, crossing his arms and levelling the man with a resistant look. “I’ll do as you say.”

Though Dream did not say anything, somehow, Phil was sure that the leader was smiling confidently underneath his mask, his obscured eyes glimmering with victory. With luck, they wouldn’t stay that way for very long.

\--

Working under Dream was not as terrible as Phil had anticipated, and that fact alone unsettled him. At his core, Dream was a military leader, and so the majority of Phil’s assigned duties revolved around assisting his central forces – perhaps Dream wanted him to accidentally leak the thought processes that rebel leaders went through. His first year was mostly spent by Dream’s side directly, at the head of a planning table deep within the centre of the Capital Palace. Dream kept up the façade of wanting to genuinely hear Phil’s opinion out, but the ex-revolutionary could tell that every question he asked was a thinly veiled prod into the confidential past of his rebellious endeavours.

Phil remained tight-lipped, answering as cryptically as possible. He wouldn’t disobey – he didn’t have a death wish, for Christ’s sake – but he wouldn’t give them any meaningful help, either. Lord knows Dream had enough of an advantage over the few struggling underground strongholds out there – they did not need Phil ratting them out accidentally. 

The meeting room was big, and grand, though only five people ever sat in it on the regular. Even though their military was vast and needed almost constant management, it would seem that only the elite - the Dream Team - really held the reigns of power, and most of the lower organisation was handled by more specialised subleaders. Phil had been surprised to confirm that fact – he’d had a feeling that something was wrong with the organisation of the SMP’s army, but he’d never been aware of just how precariously balanced its chain of command was.

The Dream Team were… interesting. Of course, Dream sat at the head of the table always, shrouded in green and masked in white. Phil would sit on the other end, directly facing him, and though he had countered his forces in battle once already, the survivor could not help but feel like he was critically outmatched in this situation.

Two men sat at either side of him – one wearing a pair of glasses, and another wearing a white headband. Phil recognised them both; they’d been at the First Revolution, fighting to mow down Phil’s family like they were mere training dummies. The glasses man was Deputy George, the boy who’d rushed to his leader’s side to heal him after Phil struck him down. He’d grown significantly since then, though there was no longer any sign of his once overpowering sense of emotion. The boy Phil had fought against was now a man, a man with all too much power and far too little resistance.

The headband man was known as Deputy Sapnap to the nation, though Phil had learned his real name – Nick - long ago. Unlike his friends, Sapnap was still an unpredictable force, and if Phil had to guess from the meetings, he was the source for the majority of the Dream Team’s surge in violence. The man seemed to just have an affinity for burning his competitors to the ground, and Phil had to stop himself from speaking up every time he bragged about torching another hybrid settlement to the ground. (One of his sons had almost died at this man’s hands, fourteen years ago. One of his sons would never be the same thanks to this man’s firelust. Phil would never forgive him.)

The final two men were Generals – both handling the two main sectors of the army. Notably, Phil had never interacted with either of them before, but they seemed just as talented as the Deputies and their Leader.

One of them was kinder than the rest, but Phil couldn’t help but feel wary of him – he was humanoid, but not quite fully human. He wasn’t hybrid, but he sure as hell was something else, dipped in shadow and left with an ethereal white smile. General Bad was perhaps as much of an enigma as Phil was, and he wasn’t yet sure if he could trust him at all. He tried several times to coax Phil into relaxing, almost as if he felt bad for having basically kidnapped the man into these civil duties, but he felt overly sweet about it, almost as if he wasn’t quite sure how to speak to outsiders anymore. Despite himself, Phil found himself concerned for him more than he was annoyed by it.

The last man caught Phil off guard most – after all, he wasn’t expecting to see a cat hybrid in the ranks of the Dream Team. General Ant seemed to be the most nervous of all the high ranking men, assigned to the Hybrid divisions of the army, and he didn’t hide his hybridity at all despite the overwhelming speciesism of most of his close allies. He was the only one not actively trying to coax information out of Phil, notably, seemingly more focused on trying to get on his colleagues’ good side as they constantly spoke over his contributive efforts. 

None of the men were aware of this, but Phil made sure to note every fact he learned down in his personal journal, keeping tabs on their movements and their hidden weaknesses. Soon, meetings were like a game of cat and mouse, both parties surreptitiously gathering intel on their enemy in order to gain the upper hand in the suddenly resumed war for Independence. Phil ought to be scared by it, but frankly, he’d never felt more alive, adrenaline surging through his system as soon as someone showed any signs of cracking. 

Dream was smart, but impatient. George was resilient, but apathetic. Sapnap was strong, but irresponsible. Bad was charismatic, but naïve. Ant was tactical, but scared. They all had their weaknesses, and if Phil played his cards right, he could escape from active duty with more weapons under his metaphorical belt than he could ever believe.

\--

It took a year of almost-daily meetings for Dream to finally come to the realisation that Phil had no intentions of breaking so easily. Their dance had grown stale, the fresh spice of the conflict finally simmering down into a dull chord of boredom. Phil had thought that was it, that he would finally be sent home under stronger supervision, but the leader seemed determined to break him, one way or another. As a result, the ex-revolutionary found himself sent to the border of the SMP alongside the two Generals, deep into the heart of their core military compound. It would appear that this time, they wanted to shatter his spirit through boredom.

Gone were the days of orderly discussion of almost-secrets and diplomacy. He spent every day with Bad nearby, completing manual labour until his arms ached and his legs felt weak. Armour sorting, weapon polishing, mass enchanting, the works – as soon as he finished a workload, Bad would be back with more, an apologetic glint in his pure white eyes.

“I really am sorry,” Bad would say, setting down another crate of raw iron swords. “You seem nice, really. I don’t wanna put you through this, and I don’t really know what you did to deserve it, but it’s Dream’s orders.”

Phil shrugged as he laid another sword on the enchantment table, flipping to the appropriate sharpness page in the book that laid before him. It flashed blue as he concentrated for a moment, before the shimmering took hold of the blade, washing the iron over in a haze of alluring purple runes.  
“Doesn’t bother me,” he said, wiping the blade down with a lapis cloth. “Not much different to working at home. Just more of it.”

Of all the Dream Team, he liked Bad the most so far – talking to him while working had revealed a surprising amount of information about the general. Hell, if Phil were less wary of forming bonds with the enemy, he’d call the shadow man a friend by now. Compared to the Deputies, he and Ant weren’t that close to the leaders, standing beside them out of fear more than loyalty. Even though Phil had initally been skeptical of their stories, he knew the sound of a lying man well – and Bad was certainly not lying. 

The General was helping him now, even though he didn’t need to, sharpening blades on a nearby grindstone. “I think it can be relaxing when you’re with someone,” the man said, and Phil hummed a note of agreement. “Dream wanted us to leave you to do it alone, but I didn’t want to. I do have a sense of morals, you know?” Bad punctuated that with a laugh, his chuckles slightly awkward thanks to his prior statement.

“You don’t get along with him?” Phil asked nonchalantly, flipping to a page for Unbreaking and applying the enchantment to the blade he was holding. 

Bad was silent a moment as he placed his sharpened blade to the side and took the one Phil had just finished enchanting. “Uh… well, he can be nice. He treats me okay, especially ‘cause I’m kind of human.” There was a pause as he started to sharpen. “He doesn’t like Ant, though. Or hybrids in general, really. I think it’s a bit stupid. I joined the military hoping for peace, y’know? I didn’t really know any better. Before I knew it, I was a veteran, and a General, and a part of his ‘Dream Team’. I don’t even know the guy that well!” He took a deep breath after having finished his ramble, sighing as he placed the blade aside.

Huh. That was interesting to know. So, even the Dream Team suffered from internal disagreements… Phil noted that fact mentally, storing it away for later.

“I started my revolution for peace too, mate.” Phil said absent-mindedly, a hint of nostalgia leaking into his voice despite himself. He had to be wary about the topic still – Bad might still report his words to Dream – but as long as he remained vague, he could risk bringing up his old failed endeavour without much danger. “I wanted L’Manberg to be a safe space for humans and hybrids alike.” 

“Really?” Bad seemed genuinely surprised by that fact. “Dream said you wanted power and land, not freedom.”

Phil shook his head. “L’Manberg was never about getting power, or claiming land, or a conquest. At its heart, it’s the feeling of family, of belonging, all that sappy but comforting shit, you know?” At the mention of family, he thought back to his sons, wondering briefly if they were safe wherever they were. He hoped they felt L’Manberg’s spirit in them every day, even if they would never learn of its existence.

“Language,” Bad said intinctively. “But… yeah. I think I understand a bit.” He went quiet again, a thoughtful expression settling on his shadowed face. “I like the idea of that. A nation based on family. That’s kind of what I’d hoped for when I joined Dream’s military.”

“Is it not like that here?” Phil asked, even though he knew the answer to the question already, secretly slipping a newly enchanted blade into a hidden sheath under his robes.

“No, no,” Bad replied, actively ignoring the act of theft as he set his finished blade down and took another one. “He likes order too much. I remember my unit was basically a battleground of its own.” The shadowy being laughed, though his voice sounded tinged with regret. “I got off lightly because they were all scared of me, but… well, I didn’t want them to be scared of me.”

Phil had hummed, turning back to his work. “Maybe things can change,” he said, a slightly foreshadowing tone to his words. Before his assignment to active duty, the man hadn’t foreseen himself taking any solid stance about the idea of rebellion again. Now, though, he saw the magnitude of work laying before him, and he knew that he was the only one who could take it up.

“I’d like that,” Bad smiled back, and at that, Phil knew that he’d found an ally at last.

\--

Soon enough, Phil found himself being assigned to actual scouting missions, accompanied by the hybrid General, Ant. He missed the ease of being able to just mass-enchant weaponry, but he didn’t mind getting the fresh air, and he enjoyed knowing that the change of command likely meant that Dream was getting tired of waiting for him to snap. Plus, Ant was fun to talk to, a breath of new personality in the monotony of active duty.

Ant’s scouting was less streamlined than Phil had anticipated, actually, their hybrid units taking the most unnecessarily long routes in order to get anywhere at all. If he were more of a perfectionist, it would frustrate Phil, but instead, he found himself mostly just intrigued by the weird way the General conducted himself. With the way he spread out expeditions and insisted on paperwork’s completion, it almost felt like he didn’t particularly want to find anything.

Every now and then, they’d find a hybrid den in the woods. Ant always insisted on going in and checking for signs of life by himself, claiming that his senses were most acute, even though as a domesticated feline, his hybrid traits were defined by his handpaws and his ears, not his sense of smell. Usually, he came out looking relatively happy – Phil learned fast that this meant that the settlement was abandoned already. He didn’t seem to like demolishing the place anyhow, but at least there was no bloodshed needed. 

Sometimes, though, he’d come out looking deeply troubled, and slowly, Phil came to realise that meant he’d found someone still living there. He would turn the unit around and report immediately back to Deputy Sapnap, informing him of the location and providing the appropriate paperwork. Sapnap would sneer, ruffle his head condescendingly, throw the paperwork over his shoulder, and get his arson kit with a spark of malicious energy, leaving the cat hybrid behind to deal with the aftermath.

The dynamic didn’t quite make sense. The Dream Team didn’t like Ant, and Ant seemed to radiate nervous energy 24/7. How was this man a General of the military with his meandering tactics and hesitant reporting?

Despite himself, Phil found himself getting along with Ant, as well. He wasn’t ruthless like the upper trio, and he seemed to strike up a tentative acquaintance as soon as he realised just how little the cat wanted to hurt him.

“Phil, you know hybrids, right?” The question was unprompted, given by Ant as he sat at the private canteen table usually reserved for him and Bad. Phil joined them to eat every day now – formally, it was so that they could keep an eye on him, but really, it was to keep the man company in his forced completion of duty. The Generals rather liked this ex-revolutionary, it seemed. Phil was rather good at getting on peoples’ good sides.

“Yeah, I know some.” Phil said, leaning back in his seat in an attempt to relax his tense muscles. He’d gotten quite a lot stronger over the past two years, perhaps thanks to his forced workout. “One of my kids is a hybrid, actually. Why, mate?”

There was a silence as Ant seemed to think of what to say next, his paws fiddling idly with the splintering wood of the table. “I was just thinking. You’re not like most people.”

“Most people?” Phil frowned in thought. “I don’t think I’m following your train of thought, Ant.”

“Well, you know,” the General resumed. “Most people think hybrids should be seen and not heard. And they say it too, actually.” He laughed nervously. “I know a bunch of hybrids who heard it so much they went into hiding, and then they started saying it as well.”

Phil was stunned into silence at the admission. The cat seemed to have been keeping in his thoughts for a long time, and he looked relieved to vent them to someone new who wouldn’t side with Dream at all.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this with you, you’re – I’m-“ the General tried to backpedal, but Phil cut in with a hushing noise, the same exact tone he would have used to soothe an anxious Techno, a panicky Wilbur or a crying Tommy.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “I think hybrids deserve to be out and open about who they are. I only ever tried to keep my sons on the relative down-low because of my… well, I’m an enemy of the state.” He laughed lightly at that, a hearty chuckle rumbling from his chest. “You can talk to me about whatever you want.”

“Okay, good!” Ant seemed to perk up at that, eyes gleaming with slight relief before he looked immediately sheepish again. “Well, not good, I mean – the concerns aren’t good. I, um. I… kind of don’t like being on the Dream Team. They’re great normally, probably, but they treat me like a pet cat. It’s a bit… dehumanising, really.”

“Why did you sign up for the military, then?” Phil asked, tilting his head with curiosity. “I didn’t even know hybrids could get so far up the command chain.”

“I, um…” Ant looked down, nervously. “I didn’t. I was assigned to active duty by my adoptive dad. He didn’t realise I was a hybrid when he got me.” His ears flattened against his head. “Not the best experience of my life, I’m gonna be honest.”

“Ah.” Phil was silent a moment. “Well, you’re allowed to dislike working for the Dream Team. And you’re allowed to hate the SMP if you want, son.” The endearing term was an accident, a force of habit thanks to Phil's fatherly mindset, but Ant seemed to perk up at it anyhow, repeating the word 'son' under his breath with interest. He reminded Phil of a younger Wilbur, if Will had been a hybrid, his eyes uncertain of his identity and searching desperately for any shred of acceptance.

“Do you think I can ever make a change to this country?” the cat asked, a hint of hope blooming in his voice. Adjusting his tone, he actually sounded a little confident, sitting back up in his chair with a surge of hope in his eyes. For a moment, Phil thought he was back at home, reassuring his son after he’d received yet another bad maths grade.

[“Dad, do you think I can do something amazing?” Wilbur would ask, his youthful brown eyes wide and hopeful as he gazed at Phil. Phil would beam at him, pride blooming in his chest at how far his son had grown.

“Yes, of course,” he would say, wishing he could ruffle his son’s hair. Wilbur was always too defensive over his beanie to allow his father to touch, which he understood well enough. Instead, Phil placed a hand on his shoulder, and smiled. “You can do anything you set yourself to, as long as you have faith.” 

It was a cheesy line, and Wilbur would always break down laughing at it, but that didn’t make it any less meaningful. Phil would laugh along until his chest hurt, pulling his son in close for an embrace, happy his son was safe by his side.]

Phil smiled tentatively, the expression reaching his eyes. “Yes, Ant. Of course.” When the cat hybrid smiled back genuinely, the revolutionary felt his own smile widen in response, faith re-lighting itself in his heart.

\--

The third year of active duty came to a close not with another reassignment, but with a report from Sapnap. The man was basically bursting with excitement when he dropped by the military compound, eyes alight with a fire Phil had never seen before. 

“Baad! Bad!” the deputy called, jolting the general to attention where he’d been standing beside Phil. The shadow man nudged him gently, prompting for the revolutionary to follow after him just in case something bad was happening. Phil was silent as he followed after him, a little dazed by the sudden surge of malicious energy pooling within the base.

“What is it, Deputy?” Bad asked, expression borderline unreadable. “Do you need me to give you some soliders? Most of the privates are out on duty right now—”

Sapnap just smirked, looking all too pleased with himself. “We’ve got something big to take care of, General,” he said. “Dream and I found a fledgling hybrid country on our land – and this one’s more of a threat than usual.” He stretched, cracking his joints rather loudly. “I’ve been looking to get some proper destruction practice in, but Dream said I should come get you Generals to give me a hand in destroying it!”

Bad looked confused. “Hybrid… country? Like, with a leader, and stuff?” He furrowed his brow in thought. “Who’s running it?”

The deputy laughed. “I’ve been doing a bit of spying, and he’s not a threat,” he smiled, threatening gleam lighting in his eyes as he eyes down Phil. The ex-revolutionary stiffened. He had a bad feeling about this. “Here’s the kicker, though, the thing that really makes me laugh. You know where it is, Phil? You want to know where it is?”

Phil remained silent, hands balling into fists. Sapnap leaned in briefly, an air of victory dancing in his aura as he smiled tauntingly. If Phil were five years younger, he would have punched his face in on first sight, but he held himself back, doing his best to keep his facial expression level.

“It’s on your land, Philza.” Sapnap spoke, voice cold and smug. “We get to tear down L’Manberg for good – and this time, you’re going to help us.”

There were a few beats of heavy silence before the revolutionary spoke up. “Who’s running it?” he asked simply, chest suddenly feeling piercingly cold.

Sapnap pretended to think for a moment. “I think you might know him,” he said toyingly, leaning back and putting his hands in his pockets casually. “Tall, pale, brown hair, skinny – what did he go by? Oh, I think the reports referred to him as General Soot – hah, that’s a fitting name, considering the fate I’m going to bring to his land. ”

“Wilbur.” Phil whispered under his breath, the shock of the realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks. Sapnap just smiled.

“Yeah, Wilbur! One of your sons, no? I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He turned around waving dismissively as he started to walk away. “I want you and the generals to round up our elite soldiers and come meet me outside at sundown! We have a confidant to meet, and a nation to burn down.” 

The deputy paused by the door just before he left, a menacing aura settling on his shoulders.  
“Oh, and don’t be late, or I’ll make you kill your son yourself.”

Just like that, he was gone. Phil felt his hands shake slightly, a new drive of urgency blooming in his chest. He turned to Bad, who looked at him with a similar look of anger dancing in his gaze. Sapnap thought he had the upper hand here – maybe it was time for them to pull the rug out under the Dream Team for good. The survivor chuckled humourlessly. It’d been far too long since he’d participated in a revolution.

\--

“How are we supposed to stop Sapnap from destroying L’Manberg?” General Ant asked, pacing in front of his two allies stressfully. He’d leapt at the chance to stick it to Sapnap, but the logistics of the experiment seemed to have him stressed.

They’d met in the private eating room, though now, there was no friendly conversation, just a looming threat of combat. Neither Ant or Bad particularly wanted to hurt their men, even though their plan would undoubtedly come down to it. They were lucky that Phil had been keeping his tabs on the Dream Team situation – with luck, he would be able to call back on his once-legendary strategic talent.

Phil stood up tall in front of the two, silent as his mind raced. He couldn’t stop himself fromd imagining himself still wearing the old black, white and reds of his old General’s uniform. He had no idea how his son - how _Wilbur_ \- had found himself at the head of a new generation of L’Manberg, of all things, but Phil cared not for the how, or the why – the ex-leader could not help but be overwhelmingly proud of his son’s achievement. He wondered how the uniform fit him – it would’ve undoubtedly required adjustments, but Phil imagined that the deep, commanding colours would perfectly accent his sharp appearance, adding a strong air of authority to his already powerful stance.

Had he taken Tommy with him? Or Tubbo? Had Techno returned from overseas in order to help them? Suddenly, it hit Phil that he was missing his son’s lives in order to help them, and he placed a hand on his chest with a sigh of resentment. With luck, his gambit would save their lives, and they could save their people. Determination simmered in his heart as he looked upon the two rebellious Dream Team members that stood in front of him, waiting for him to speak up.

“We may not be able to stave off the entire revolution,” Phil conceded, speaking as if he were in front of a crowd of two hundred and not just two, “but we can deal a heavy blow. The reason L’Manberg first fell is because they struck us first – we stood no extended chance against the swathes of elite soldiers they sent our way.”

He paused, noting the horrified looks on the two Generals’ faces. They’d had hands in raising the armies. They knew how capable the elites were.

“But,” he continued, “the elites are not the entirety of the army. The majority of the forces are untrained individuals. The Dream Team only struck us head on because they had an elite army to do so with. Now, I don’t know how we are to subdue Sapnap, but we are taking the entirety of the top percentage with us today on our primary scouting mission to L’Manberg’s walls. Sapnap is strong, but he isn’t one to hang behind – I predict he will go ahead and try to burn the place down right away – fortunately for us, that means he’s going to be away a while. 

“While he’s gone, and we’re trailing behind, we have plenty opportunity to corner the army off and render them unable to fight, crippling the Dream Team’s army irreparably and preventing them from taking L’Manberg on in a head-on fight.” Phil took a deep breath after he finished speaking, his heartbeat speeding up as the gravity of the situation finally began to weigh on his soldiers.

“I like that plan,” Ant said, his blue eyes brimming with excitement. “I can get you an enchanted sword if you need, d- Phil.” 

The revolutionary raised his eyebrow at the almost slip up, but didn’t speak on it, instead opting to draw his blade from his hidden sheath. He’d taken it a year ago, from when he was working with Bad. In the hilt, its name was engraved – ‘Symphony for a Survivor’. He’d had a replica with the same name back when he fought for L’Manberg.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, though, Ant.”

Bad’s eyes widened. “Didn’t you take that sword while you were working under me?” he gawked, surprised at the fine blade. Compared to the others he’d enchanted, it was of significantly higher value, clearly re-sharpened by a man who knew what he was doing. “Do you think we can wipe out a whole squadron, though?” He sounded nervous. Phil didn’t blame him.

“We can do anything we set our minds to, as long as we have faith.” 

\--

The sun was hardly setting by the time the squadron finally moved out on foot, Sapnap clutching a torch in his hands. They moved silently for the most part, the deputy leading the charge with Bad, Ant, and Phil just behind him. Despite his earlier conviction, Phil couldn’t shake a sense of lurking fear. The elite squadron was not large, not at all – only about twenty three men followed after him, their heads low and solemn in the darkness. They wouldn’t be so threatening if Phil didn’t know just how much firepower these men held.

Sapnap raised his hand after a long while of travelling, drawing the party to a hold.  
“I’m going to go ahead,” he said. “I have to meet with somebody. I’ll be back for you all.” He smiled at Phil over his shoulder. “Can’t have you missing my blitz, okay, Philza?”

Phil gritted his teeth, watching the man disappear into the bushes. They were far from L’Manberg’s borders, he knew, but the air of domesticity was certainly in the air, a buzz of life tinting the once-dead landscape. Ant closed in, placing a hand on Phil’s shoulder questioningly. Bad glanced over, waiting for the cue.

The revolutionary took a deep breath in, then a deep breath out. Then, without a further thought, he drew his blade and rose it to the sky.

“For my son.” he whispered under his breath, and then, there was chaos.

Despite their acute talent, the squadron had not anticipated the attack. Cries of surprise filled the air as the three men attacked, the soldiers completely caught off guard by the betrayal of their leaders.

Phil hated fighting, even when he was winning. His blade sliced through flesh effortlessly, enchantment runes shimmering and tearing at the armour the men had strapped to their backs. Despite his lack of formal practice, the manual labour of the past few years had re-toned his muscles and heightened his reflexes, and so he dipped between the warriors easily, catching glimpses of Bad and Ant as they tore through their own ranks.

God, they were good. Their trepidation was gone, now, as one by one, elite soldiers fell dead to the ground. Phil sidestepped a would-be fatal axe swing, tactfully piercing his attacker in the joint of his armour and withdrawing it with a sickening noise of suction. They fell to the floor, lifeless and bloodied, and Phil turned to attack another, repeating the cycle over and over and over, the fighting blending into meaningless noise around him. He felt like he was fifteen years younger, fighting for his nation against impossible odds. He felt invincible.

Phil was doing this for his family. For his nation. For his son. The image of Wilbur leading his nation painted itself in Phil’s mind as he fought, bringing a soft smile to his face despite the bloody hellscape of the battleground. Sapnap was strong alone, but Wilbur was stronger, no doubt. Phil had passed along all of his revolutionary talent to his middle child, even if the boy himself had never been aware of it. After all, he couldn’t exactly have L’Manberg’s honour dying in his own head, could he?

Phil sliced through what should have been the last man, and prepared to raise his sword once more again, in the name of victory.

“We did it!” he cried aloud, relief shining in his words. “For L’Man—”

“Not so fast, Philza.” 

Phil barely had time to register a look of fearful surprise washing over Bad and Ant’s faces before a fiery hot blade pierced his back, ruthlessly twisting and spearing straight through his body. Sapnap tore his blade out of him, leaving the soldier to collapse to the dirt, limbs twitching as his vision blurred and distorted confusingly.

“DAD!” he heard Ant cry, genuine anguish painting his yowls. Phil watched weakly from his position on the ground as Sapnap effortlessly met the cat hybrid’s lunging blows, parrying every one. With a decisive knock to the head, he was out, collapsing to the floor. Bad seemed to stumble, taken aback by the speed at which their victory had soured – the poor man hadn’t even had time to ready up before Sapnap bowled him over too, leaving him unconscious and wounded on the forest floor.

Was this it? Was this the end of Phil’s revolutionary streak? He supposed if he died here, it wouldn’t be a complete loss. His sons would be able to stand a chance at reviving the nation he could never finish making by himself. And his new sons – Phil had to pause when he realised he was thinking of the two lost generals as sons of his own, now – had performed valiantly, even in the face of utter defeat. Phil thought he couldn’t be any prouder.

Shuffling sounded around him as someone else stood at his side, their steps foreign to Phil’s ears. Faintly, the warrior tuned into a conversation.

“…aren’t these your men?” a deep voice asked.  
“Hell no… traitors…” Phil heard Sapnap say, the words floating and dancing over his head as he faded in and out of consciousness. “Slight inconvenience… change of plans…. forest is alight… report to Wilbur…” Phil tried to lift his head at the noise of his son’s name, but found he could not budge.

The stranger made an affirmative, their deep voice unnatural and rough around the edges. “…keep your end… I'll be kept alive..?”  
“…course…” Sapnap seemed to confirm, and Phil made a slight noise of resistance as he felt his body being lifted by the strength of the Deputy.

The last thing Phil registered in his slipping consciousness was the feeling of being carried away by the man who had struck him down, surely to be disposed of for good. Phil closed his eyes and let himself fade out at last, reassured that his death would not be in vain.

...

...

...

...

...

As it turns out, Dream didn’t want Phil dead quite yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Wonder what's going to happen to the rebels? ...Better keep wondering for a while, because you're not going to find out for a long time! xxx
> 
> If you see a typo, no you don't! Contact me on Tumblr @general-light or my new Twitter @light_general.  
> If you want to see what Wilbur fic I write in my spare time, check out my bookmarks for the main series on my side account, "Alcohol Makes You Boring".


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